


The Poetic Standoff

by succulentfather



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Gun Violence, Pre-Canon, Regency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:54:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25961677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/succulentfather/pseuds/succulentfather
Summary: We all know Thomas met his demise via a gunshot. We also know about his grievances with a certain Lord Byron. When Thomas finally said 'enough is enough', he did not expect a bullet through the abdomen.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	The Poetic Standoff

He was going to pay for what he had done, the villainous cowardly thief! How dare he profit from words he never wrote? How dare he strip his legacy away leaving nothing in his conniving wake? And what’s more he was currently amidst his attempts to steal the woman of his dreams. 

Thomas strode with purpose down the hall towards the library, a loaded pistol behind his back. Nothing would stop him now. Someone was going to get shot, and it was going to be _him_. 

“BYRON!” Thomas yelled as he came to the library and stood proudly under the threshold. 

Lord Byron stood in the middle of the room, silhouetted against the evening sun flooding through the window. He also held a suspicious hand behind his back, which worried Thomas a little. The two men stood there in a standoff. 

“Ah, Thomas.” Byron smirked, “I was wondering if you would make an appearance.” 

“Enough with the games, Byron.” Thomas snarled back, “You have stolen from me for the last time, thief!”

“I have no recollection of which you speak.” 

“Lies! Every word that spills from thy lips is excrement under my heel!” Thomas stared daggers into him, “My verse is nothing but a plaything to you and I shall put a stop to it here and now!” 

“Your verse is poetic,” Byron teased, “You should contemplate writing.” 

“SILENCE!” Thomas felt the anger bubble up and he thrust his pistol out towards Byron, “Not another slimy sound out of thy pox-ridden face!” 

“Pox-ridden, eh?” Byron’s sickening smile grew wider and he pulled out his arm from behind him to rival Thomas’ pistol with his own. 

Thomas stepped back a little in shock and felt an uneasy lump grow in his throat, “You anticipated my assault?” 

“On the contrary, you have anticipated mine.” Byron shuffled towards him, backing him into a corner so he could lock the door behind them. 

Thomas stepped back, keeping his gun aimed, into the corner of the room to keep space between him and the thief. It seemed only moments ago he had had the upper hand, but now he was trapped in the library with a man much more familiar with a pistol than he. 

“You see, once I publish _my_ works of art, I wouldn’t want an insignificant fool running about claiming he had in fact penned them.” Byron began, taking the opportunity, “You seem to create an awful amount of noise for a single man, Thorne. Somebody ought to tell you the definition of silence.” 

“Do you intend to get away with this? If you shoot me, it will not take long to find the culprit. You would be ruined before _my_ works went to print.” Thomas tried to defend himself. 

“That is why I shall not be the culprit.” Byron backed him further and further until he was against a bookshelf. 

He laid down his pistol calmly on a table and quickly, but efficiently, pinned Thomas against the bookshelf. He grabbed the hand that was holding the pistol and aimed it into Thomas’ abdomen. Thomas froze in panic as Byron pinned his own gun against him. 

“Oh, woe is me. I could not stop him!” Byron continued in a sarcastically dramatic voice, “He was so full of despair he turned the pistol on himself! I attempted to shake poor Thomas Thorne from his clouded mind but I was too late! May the Lord take pity upon his tortured soul.” 

“You would not dare!” Thomas realised what was happening as the pistol jabbed into his stomach became painful. 

Byron’s eyes flared with power as he stared deep into Thomas’, “I recall a beautiful sentence of yours, ‘The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.’ Shall we test that theory?” 

**BANG!**


End file.
